Usefulness of Having Friends
by ObservationofTrifles
Summary: First story! One-shot. Sherlock is sick and John is bringing him to the doctor's. On the way there in the tram, John decides to play a deduction game to cheer Sherlock up. Have fun reading!


-This was originally a school assignment to use vocabulary words. Have fun reading!-

Today was an especially busy day, and for some reason, no taxis would stop for either John or Sherlock. _Legions_ of people filled the streets of London, especially the tram stops. Sherlock's gloomy face made his utmost disdain for travelling on the tram obvious to every single passerby. Though already well-known as a consulting detective among certain circles of the town, most of the inhabitants of London were unfortunately not acquainted with Sherlock's genius, and fortunately were not acquainted with Sherlock's _probing_ gaze and _spurning_ attitude. In fact, today the genius lay _dormant_ and the _boorish_ child came out because he was sick with a simple cold. Being a doctor himself, John had advised that he go see a physician; Sherlock had been _averting_ this suggestion for three days now. He acted as if he would somehow feel _abased_ if he visited the hospital. This morning helped _actuate_ today's events since he woke up with a migraine, something that prevented Sherlock from thinking and working.

Inside of the tram, the two acquaintances had become separated, and now Sherlock's antipathetic looks at the other passengers had created a nimbus of awkwardness around him. No one wanted to accidentally step into his personal bubble. John looked over at his friend, who was approximately three meters away and a lot taller than the group of tourists that had encircled him. His eyes were closed and he was running his hands through his hair, obviously in pain; his sleeves, or lack of adequate ones, revealed (at least) one nicotine patch. John decided to alleviate his friend's pain, and concluded that the best way to do this would be to rouse his intellect. He had no deficit of bravery, seeing as he was a former army _combatant_, and he decided to put his plan into action. Sherlock's phone beeped. It wasn't a very fancy one, but the _liberality_ of its owner allowed him to do wonders with it. It was a text from a John Watson that read "Do you want to play a game?" After a split second of consideration, Sherlock replied "Yes. What kind? SH," and tried searching for John in the crowded tram, almost like a hunter searching for his _quarry_. After what seemed like an endless moment of waiting, his phone beeped again. He whipped it out and read, "You see that woman in the purple shirt with the red bandana? Tell me as much as you can about her." He looked at her; she was sitting down about a meter away, playing with something in her hands. Their eyes met briefly, but she quickly _averted_ her gaze. "In process of divorce, upset about it. She is sick and does not think much of the time she has left. Terminal disease. Been sick for two years, maybe three. Sufficient? SH," he typed out quickly and sent to John. The prompt response was, "How?" "She just took off her wedding ring and fiddled nervously with it; put it in her bag after. I can see folder labeled 'DIVOR-' from here; all clothes well-taken care of, but at least two-three years old, nothing new except full makeup kit that she took out. Sickly pallor, lack of hair (she keeps pulling her bandana down, so self-conscious), unnaturally thin. SH" John looked up from the screen of his phone and saw some kind of sparkle awakening in Sherlock's overall demeanor, one which he did not observe this morning.

"The man next to her is a lawyer, business is going well. He works mostly for wealthy _plaintiffs _and tends to_ protract_ court processes, which gets him more pay. Has a habit of_ haranguing_ in court, _harrying_ witnesses. _Impenitent_ man, _knave_. His current case is causing him a lot of stress. Sufficient? SH," wrote Sherlock, pressed "Send," and snapped the phone shut. In a second, John's phone vibrated and he quickly brought it out and read over the text. His curiosity was overbearing, and he wrote the same redundant message in answer, "How?" Sherlock smirked once he skimmed over this word and started typing intently, "Expensive suit, new Breitling watch, and new shoes. Briefcase almost empty, sounded hollow when it was put down on the ground, means one or two cases, not a lot of material; thus, plaintiffs must be wealthy and court time drawn out. My hunch says he is not very honest, thus a knave. He just ate a cough lozenge, yet does not appear sick (sore throat from overuse), aggressive mannerisms (like the _dubious _look he threw almost everyone in the train, as if everyone did something wrong, bold hand movements).Lawyer because of briefcase, suit, overall appearance screams law field. Mannerisms also show risky, brash. Personal feeling suggests he is impenitent. SH." John looked over at the man whom they were discussing and his intuition told him to agree with his companion. "I think you are right," he wrote and received a quick response-"Of course I'm right. SH." As John looked over at Sherlock, he slowly came to the realization that his _subterfuge_ had worked better than he had expected; the famous Sherlock Holmes deeply sighed, sought out an empty seat on the tram, and sat down, closing his eyes. The passengers who had earlier taken the _brunt_ of Sherlock's illness because of his overall malicious attitude had already left on the previous stop; the next one was his and John's.

Once they got off the tram and were walking down the street, John was feeling absolutely wondrous. Sherlock now had some color in his face, compared to the deathly pale that occupied it earlier. Suddenly, he stopped and looked at Watson. "Thank you," he said, giving him a small smile of acknowledgement, and walked on. John stood still for a little while and then realized that Sherlock was far ahead of him. He ran up the street to catch up with his friend and to bask in the realization that he was more important to his companion than he thought.

_Credit for the characters of John Hamish Watson and Sherlock Holmes goes to Sir Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle (1859-1930) of Edinburgh, Scotland. _


End file.
